Page 63 of Cruel Pleasures
Adrenaline shoots through me. I set off into a fast strut, my gaze as hard as glass. I’m a woman that’s made up her mind about what she wants out of the night. Nothing’s about to stop me from getting what that is.
Petty. Vengeful. Reckless.
All things I’ve been called before. All insults that make me even more determined to do what I want to do. I cross the threshold of the Market doors like I own the place. A staff member sidles up to me, and I say, “I’ll take an order of spice. I’ll be in room six.”
“But, Miss Newton, that room is invitation only?—”
“I have an invite. Deliver the spice. And champagne,” I add. “Make it quick.”
I’m throbbing with adrenaline by the time I reach the door to room six. The same room Archer had warned me about last night. He’d said it was the room where pleasure met pain.
After the night I’ve had, I need some relief. Some time to get off and forget. Some pain that leads to pleasure unlike the pain that’s my grief. And if Archer has a problem with what I’m about to do, he has no one else to blame but himself.
He doesn’t know who he’s fucked with.
16. Imani
Playground - Bea Miller
I’m not sure what I’m expecting when I walk through the door of room six. On some level it would be a room full of various devices and instruments designed for pleasure (and pain). It would be a room potentially crowded with other players enjoying each other, like the Market theaters had been.
Low-lit with a permanent air of secrecy and discretion.
But playroom six is none of these things.
I enter to an empty, plain white room.
No one’s around. The fluorescent light shines bright.
There’s a table off in the corner and cushiony white leather sofa against the wall. Coiled on the floor lays a thick bundle of rope.
This has to be a mistake.
I glance around as if hoping a staff member will suddenly appear. The invitation must’ve had the wrong location written on it.
Knuckles tap the door and I eagerly answer, expecting for this news to be delivered—a brand new invitation presented with the real location. I open the door to Timothee and his tray, but he’s not clutching a new invitation like I hope. A small bowl sits in the center of the tray.
“The spice you ordered, Ms. Newton.
“Oh. Yes. I forgot I did. Thank you,” I say. “Is there any way you can check I’m in the right place? The invitation said room six?—”
“This is room six.”
“But no one’s here.”
“I’m afraid that’s what the invitation said.”
“Yes, I just told you that?—”
“Good night, Ms. Newton.” His long, spindly fingers wrap around the knob and he steps back to draw the door closed.
Shocked by the dismal, I turn around with hands scooped under the small spice bowl. I’m not sure why it bothers me to arrive to an empty room like this; I should take it as a sign I’m supposed to call it a night. The safe bet would be to go upstairs and lock myself in my room ’til morning.
Who gives a fuck if Archer messes with Olivia Belini? It’s none of my concern.
We had sex once. We had some laughs and good conversation. There’s no question I find him attractive and his dick game was top tier.
But he’s free to do as he wants. It was never serious between us. He was a vacation lay and nothing more.
